


Quid Pro Quo

by kiath



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, music industry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-27
Updated: 2007-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiath/pseuds/kiath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written as a request for Strongplacebo. She asked for "a Dom who gets all the ladies but really only wants Elijah".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quid Pro Quo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strongplacebo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strongplacebo/gifts).



Her perfume smells expensive, but she's wearing so much of it that she might as well have bought it from Avon. When she leans closer to air-kiss goodbye, Dominic wants to gag. Fighting the urge, he stares idly down her top, a cheeky look born of curiosity rather than any tangible desire. 

"Call me."

Dominic smiles, tight-lipped, eyes averted. "Yeah," he replies. "Yeah, sure."

She leaves a toxic cloud of fragrance behind her, and Dominic has to light a cigarette just to mask the smell with something marginally more pleasant. The two clash, dirty-sickly-smokey-sweet all around his head. A minute or so later and he wishes he'd just suffered.

As if on cue, another cause to suffer approaches. "I don't suppose," she pouts, "you have a spare cigarette?" Her cherry-red lips pull wide into a smile. "I'm all out." 

Dominic gestures at the packet in front of him, a mumbled _help yourself_ accompanied by a thousand yard stare. He's polite, always polite, but God, it's just so _hard_ to look interested. Best not to try, he thinks; best just to watch the next band faff with their gear on-stage. 

"Are they any good?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The band," she replies. "Are they any good?"

Dominic shrugs, gives a brief smile, politeness incarnate. "Oh. I don't know, yet. That's sort of the point."

She frowns, most of the expression falling to her pouted lips. Her confusion is so childlike that Dominic wonders how any grown man could find her genuinely sexy without feeling a little grubby as a result. "The point?"

"Of the showcase." Dominic wants to stop talking now. He can sense himself falling into the trap of conversation. He can see it happening, he just can't stop it. "To check them out."

"Oh, you're in the industry?" she asks, all innocence. "I didn't know."

 _No, of course you didn't_ , thinks Dominic, staring down her cleavage as she bends over the table. _It's just a happy coincidence, us talking like this at an invite-only PR event._

"I'm Crystal," she says as she holds out her hand to Dominic. Her nails are ridiculously long; Dominic wonders how she even manages to dress with talons so sizable. They catch the light and he realises with some amusement that she has tiny diamante stones set into the polish. He introduces himself as an afterthought, concentrating more on extracting himself from the handshake in one piece. 

"So, what do you do in the industry, Dominic?" 

He smirks, choosing his words carefully. "I sign talent." They're laced with purposefully odious self-congratulation, Dominic hoping to invoke the ghost of Nathan Barley.

Crystal just smiles. "You should hear my group sometime. I'm in a girl band, we're called Pout."

Dominic wants to stub his cigarette out on his own eyeball. "I see. And I suppose you have a CD with you right now?"

When Crystal hands it over, Dominic realises he never even saw her reach into her bag. Slight-of-hand self-promotion is even more impressive with nails two inches too long. Still, the second Crystal has completed her mission and blown a kiss Dominic's way, he instantly uses the demo as a place mat for his condensation-damp Corona. 

The band are good. Not brilliant, not bad. Anything new? Definitely not. A better variation of what's already on XFM's daytime rotation? Maybe, with the right push. After the five-song set, Dominic makes his way down towards the stage, searching out their manager, looking for the sweaty desperation synonymous with small-fry representation. Email correspondence is all well and good, but a name alone is never enough to go on. 

The band are clearing the stage themselves; they wind their guitar leads around palms and elbows, tie them in knots, throw them in a holdall. Dominic watches the lead guitarist place his Strat carefully into its case. It looks new: still shiny in that shop window way, still just a little bit precious. The care shown betrays just how long it must have taken to save for.

"Excuse me," Dominic says, leaning over the low stage a little to tap the guitarist on the shoulder. He turns round and smiles, and Dominic decides on the spot he wants to see him come, just the once. In a sudden burst of self-consciousness, Dominic wonders if he is still carrying a haze of cheap perfume with him. "Is your manager about?"

"I'm the manager," the guitarist says, smiling a little more genuinely this time. "Dominic?"

"Yeah. Are you Elijah?" 

"That's me," Elijah replies. "Thanks for coming." Dominic stares at Elijah's gapped teeth and wide eyes and wonders if _he's_ gone small time without realising it. The kids are ordering the A &R around, now. 

Elijah, it seems, has a canny way with an email. He's convinced most of London's talent scouts to turn up at Madame Jo-Jo's on the basis of his textual lip-service alone, not mentioning that as well as being the band's manager, he also acts as their PR guru and web designer extraordinaire. Dominic's a little surprised (and even disappointed) when Elijah admits the one thing he doesn't have much hand in is the music. 

"My skills are elsewhere," he asserts, and Dominic can more than believe it. He leans forward, too close to be professional, and places a hand on Elijah's shoulder. "I can help you," he says. "I want to help your band out."

He feels Elijah tense a little under his touch, but he's undeterred. Dominic is convinced this is worth pursuing, even if the music is Artic Monkeys two years too late. He pulls back and hands Elijah his business card. "Call me, yeah?"

Elijah smiles, tight-lipped, eyes averted. "Yeah," he replies. "Yeah, sure."


End file.
